


Adjusting You

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reunions, Romance, Season/Series 12, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Vince Vincente as Lucifer, body image issues, h/c_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9204416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: Dean’s not too pleased with Lucifer’s new vessel, until Lucifer shows up to get Dean acquainted.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for h/c_bingo Round 7 for the prompt ‘body image issues.’ 
> 
> Spoilers for Season 12, which means Lucifer’s new vessel! I love Rick Springfield and have really enjoyed him playing Lucifer, so I wanted to write a little Ducifer. 
> 
> **Soundtrack:** Rick Springfield’s ‘Affair of the Heart’

 

_~And you got the power, it amazes me still_

_How you play my emotions with consummate skill_

_I don_ _’t have to look any further than into your eyes_

_So don_ _’t try to tell me you think it’s just physical_

_It goes way deeper than that_

_You better know it_ _’s an affair of the heart~_

* * *

 

It wasn’t like Dean didn’t know whom Lucifer had chosen as his vessel. Not that he’d called him or sent a letter or popped up _anywhere_ just to let Dean know that he was safe and perfectly corporeal in a new vessel, even though Dean would have really appreciated the heads up. Word got around by way of Castiel through Crowley, and Dean had to act like he didn’t care _too_ much with a small, mild side of wanting to kill the archangel he hadn’t been supposed to fall for.

Maybe it was worse that Lucifer claimed the same, that the last time they were together he breathed into Dean’s ear that he couldn’t stand to be away from him, yet circumstances always required him to be. It was more about what Lucifer was _supposed_ to be that made him the bad guy, not who he wanted to be, not the way Dean really saw him. But he might as well take Lucifer’s caring and his so called love and shove it right back up his ass, because Dean had to find out from _Cas_ what the hell was going on. Not only that, but he had to steer clear of the subject around Sam because Dean was all pent up emotion and anxiety and didn’t know what the hell to expect when he saw Lucifer again.

He knew _who_ to expect though: Vince Vincente.

The whole rock-star image fit Lucifer well, and Dean could just imagine the devil’s smug smile at that admission, but that didn’t mean Dean approved of his choice of vessel. The guy was a living legend, of course, because Lucifer really had to have all the attention and all the damn time, or at least project the image that he did, but Dean was a stay under the radar kind of guy. He wanted to be enough to ground Lucifer and make him settle down with him in a sense, even so he could start thinking about broaching the topic with Sam.

It was the last thing he could think about now, what with Lucifer still gone indefinitely and Dean wondering if he’d ever come back. If he’d ever grow a brain and learn what was good for him and ditch Dean, a prime example of the flawed and worthless humans Luce hated above everything else.

But no… Dean was the exception. It was Dean Winchester that the devil himself always crawled back to, like Dean was anything but trash.

And the more days that passed, the more he saw Lucifer as living up to his rock-star persona. The further he saw him running away from Dean, running away from the _life_ he had promised Dean.

Some things were meant to stay as dreams before they became nightmares.

Nightmares that were actually reality. 

It didn’t please Dean that Sam seemed way more into Luce’s new vessel than he did, and it both pissed him off and twisted his heart into knots when Sam brought it up. Or when one of his songs went on the radio, which led Dean to ban radio use rather than succumb to distracted driving.

He wanted to see the guy more than anything no matter what vessel he possessed, but he had to admit that the thought of Vince Vincente was sort of a turnoff. Dean had never cared for his music; his dad had, but every time one of his songs played it made Dean’s skin crawl: cheap, sappy love songs that were overdone and over-worshipped and gave rock music, hell, music in _general_ a bad name.

Still, _if_ he ever showed up again, he was going to swallow his pride and hope Lucifer missed him just as much as Dean had.

They’d had relatively little time together even before Dean was set to blow up Amara. When Chuck, okay, _God_ came back he was perfectly fine with giving Lucy some space to work out their eons old issues. Sam saw most of it as amusing, and Dean envied his role as a familial matchmaker who was still relatively uninvested in the situation and the effects it would cause. All Dean could do was sit still and offer the best possible advice, simultaneously screaming at himself to shut up and not move lest one word or look send Lucifer running for the clouds, entirely convinced Dean wasn’t worth the effort.

That’s all their relationship was: effort and waiting, and Dean was worth neither.

Which made it all the more surprising when Lucifer decided to show up not five minutes later, as if his only two purposes were finding a vessel: checked off, and proving Dean wrong.

“Beloved,” Vince - _Lucifer_ \- greeted. Dean figured he would have to get used to calling him the former in public and he swallowed, unsure if he was ready for that. He was so used to the old vessel, all their memories steeped in how Dean always thought of him, but that vessel had withered away and it wasn’t coming back. Even if Lucifer did put forth the effort to repair it, Dean would be forced to say goodbye over and over as it disintegrated time and time again, uprooting him further.

No, he would just have to get used to this one, because while he hated the guy and hated his damn music, he hadn’t even been able to touch Lucifer when he was wearing Cas, not having been fair to the angel.

But Dean couldn’t make the same excuses now.

The voice was jarring and his appearance - while unsurprising - even more so. Dean had steeled himself to be ready for this but he wasn’t. These eyes were cold and foreign to him, the skin older and with deeper creases and entirely unfamiliar. Even the clothes… Lucifer always dressed casual, exuding an on-the-surface careless and laid-back person. How in the hell was he supposed to believe that _this_ was Lucifer?

“Dean,” Lucifer tried again, not that Dean hadn’t recognized his first, customary greeting. It was Lucifer’s little codeword, the one he whispered to Dean in dreams and mouthed to Dean playfully when they weren’t alone. It always made Dean smile, to be precious in the eyes of this one being, but Dean didn’t feel special in the eyes of Vince Vincente and he wondered if he ever would.

Still, he _did_ recognize the tone this time around: soft and considerate, a tone now solely for Dean when all his voice was to the rest of the world was a rock god screaming out his heart and his soul across the airwaves.

Dean just didn’t know what the hell to _say._

“You were worried I wasn’t coming back, weren’t you? You’re right, I tend not to come when a Winchester calls, but I have been working my way back to you, babe.” _Oh god,_ Dean pleaded, _no more music references._ Lucifer laughed and crowded Dean’s space then, and it was so sudden and Lucifer seemed entirely too confident that Dean pushed back, pushed back and back and back until he collided against a table and was forced to stop. He closed his eyes when the devil further dismissed the space between them, could feel the cool brush of his fingers against his arm and tensed.

There was hair against his cheek and Lucifer didn’t have that much hair and Dean jerked because he didn’t _know_ this person. Lucifer hummed against his neck in disagreement, that hum deep and powerful and way more goddamn sinful than Dean remembered.

His cheek was cupped in a weathered hand and Dean peeled his eyes open to see green ones - _not_ the usual blue ones - peering back at him. He wanted to brush away the smile because it wasn’t real, it  wasn’t how Dean _remembered,_ and he couldn’t fall in love all over again, he _couldn_ _’t…_

The smile faded. Any other time and Dean would have been reassured that it meant no mood fluctuation. He had known Lucifer’s vessel enough to know when he had been happy or ticked off or impatient. What little time they had together in the past Dean had made sure of that, to memorize every little physical imperfection, the way his forehead would crease when he was painstakingly pondering some minuscule detail, or the tense set of his usually relaxed shoulders when Dean thought or said something he didn’t approve of.

It was overwhelming not having that now. 

“Beloved,” Lucifer reminded in all-seriousness, as if that was the answer to everything. It kinda used to be. It was such a stupidly sappy nickname and Dean would trudge through mud and blood and whatever filth lay in his way just to hear him say that one damn word. Like Dean was perfect, so perfect he was eternal. Lucifer puffed himself up then, like Dean was his point of pride, and it looked so much like him that Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes. The response was satisfying, “No matter what form I come back in, I am yours.”

After that, Dean felt like he was in an eighties rock video: eye-sex laid on thicker than makeup and lights that were only bright in just the right spaces, such blatant sexual energy that was meant to be implied but you full on showered in it. Lucifer was supposed to be the guy luring him in and Dean the chick who couldn’t resist and practically fell head first into his lap.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad being the chick this time around; not like he had much of a choice.

Lucifer loosened his posture and the video faded out of Dean’s consciousness. “Now, enough of the love crap.”  He practically shook off the sappiness and Dean recognized him then: such devil-may-care attitude it _hurt_ in such a _good_ way. “I know you have a particular dislike for this vessel, but I had limited options and I feel _good_ , Dean.” He laughed again, but it was one of realization this time rather than the surety that Lucifer _always_ exuded. “You know, I feel stronger than I have in ages, maybe even the strongest I’ve felt since we’ve been together. This _Vince_ is a _fantastic_ fit for me and will hopefully remain so for a long, _long_ time to come. Oddly enough, the only thing I can seem to think about is sharing this body with you. I want to see these hands fill you up and make you happy, to hold you and to burn the feel of your skin into them. And is that so wrong,” he teased, “really?” He paused. “Although, the age difference… I hadn’t quite thought about that.”

“You think I can’t get it up for an older guy?” Dean asked, insulted.

Lucifer scoffed at Dean’s abrupt change from disorientation. “Alright then, cowboy. So what’s the problem then?”

“I just…,” Dean started and then realized how ridiculous he was being and stopped. Truth be told, while Sam was geeking out like a girl to the guy’s music it was Dean who had always been mesmerized by his physical appearance. Vince totally rocked the rock-star getup, and the hair had been one of Dean’s secret fetishes for ages. He had aged pretty damn well too, enough so that Dean was starting to rethink his disapproval of the vessel choice. Not that Lucifer would move on without an explanation; he thrived at getting under Dean’s skin - _damn him_. “I just miss the old you, I guess.”

Lucifer considered that for a long moment. “I _can_ make you see the other me, though I always assumed delusion was never your game. You’ve been played with too many times for that. The offer, however, is on the table.  I can’t say we won’t be hurt by your decision,” and Dean bristled at the royal _we._ It was _so_ like Luce to play with him now when he was emotionally unsure. “Although, I’ve come to grudgingly accept that your happiness means more to me than my own pride at times. Don’t make me regret my acceptance of that.”

He could be a pretty giving guy, come to think of it.

Lucifer took Dean’s hand and put it on the back of his neck, let Dean run his fingers through his new hair to get acquainted. It was creepy in a way but reassuring too, not to mention downright _soft_. Dean could see worry in his new eyes - too much _new_ for Dean to handle all at once - and it made him realize that Lucifer was so sure of rejection, so sure that Dean wouldn’t recognize him, that he wouldn’t even give him a chance…

He had to know Dean better than that. “I…,” he pulled his hand away, but let Lucifer take it again and kiss each of his fingers, one after another and then back to the first again. His lips were soft and smooth, not the rough, chapped ones that Dean remembered. He wasn’t entirely sure he could get used to the makeup though. “I’m gonna need some time, Luce,” he explained, and the devil preened at the nickname. “But not time apart,” Dean quickly finished, not that any being in any realm could tear Lucifer away from him unless it was his choice. It was the waiting more than anything that he couldn’t tolerate. The waiting to see if Lucifer still loved him, still was willing to make it work.

“We’ll have a lot of fun, Dean-o. On your own terms,” he relented, but Dean wasn’t too sure of that. Get Lucifer excited about something and _nothing_ could stop him. “Not to mention I haven’t taken full advantage of dear ol’ Vince yet,” he remarked. At that, Dean couldn’t miss how well he _did_ fit into Vince’s skin, like slipping into a perfectly tailored suit. He couldn’t ignore how well Vince’s clothes fit Lucifer’s personality, and the dark hair that Dean surprisingly wanted to run his fingers through _again_ , the makeup, the creases under the eyes and along the cheeks, the eyes and the lips, the cologne…  everything that wasn’t Lucifer but was at the same time, a different side that Dean would just have to come to expect _and_ to accept.

If Lucifer was taking the time for him, then Dean could give him the time in the first place.

“Maybe I’ll even start to pen some love songs. I’m sure Vince in here would be pleased with that, and with you in time as our new muse. I’ll even consider taking some pointers from him when things settle down some.”

Lucifer posing as Vince Vincente and writing love songs with Dean as his inspiration? Dean could almost laugh if the relief didn’t punch him in the stomach, because he recognized that smile, that sole genuine one that Lucifer had reserved only for Dean. So Lucifer had worked out the kinks in his vessel after all, waited until he was sure Dean could adjust.

That made Dean’s heart suddenly feel a whole lot heavier. It was a heavy that Dean could get used to, with time. Until then, he’d get to work on the name.

Not Nick, but _Vince._ Vincent, Vin, _Vince._ And while he worked through it, the devil turned rock god draped his leather jacket over Dean’s shoulders, whipped back his hair like only a true god could do and gazed at Dean with such amusement and hope that Dean realized the adjustment might not be so damn disappointing after all.

**FIN**


End file.
